


Forever And Always

by loves_books



Series: Forever Changed [5]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6873787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been an anniversary of sorts, and sadly not a good one. Eight years. Eight whole years, nearly to the day, since the fateful mission which had cost Face most of his left leg and torn their tightly-knit Alpha unit apart forever.</p>
<p>But rather than focussing on that horrendous day, Hannibal always tried to be grateful for all the wonderful things that had happened since.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever And Always

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist one more little glimpse into the future just to see how Hannibal and Face were getting on after everything they've been through in this series, and this will obviously make no sense at all unless you've read the previous stories.

“Face?” Hannibal called quietly, pulling the front door closed behind himself until it locked with a soft click. “Baby?”

No reply, at least not from Face, which was both strange and slightly worrying for several reasons. The house was mostly quiet, apart from the joyful bark that announced that their dog had heard Hannibal’s arrival and was doubtless heading for the hall at top speed.

Really, Face should’ve still been at work, though he’d sent Hannibal a message earlier to say he’d be home by seven at the latest, a vast improvement on the previous night when he’d crawled into bed at gone midnight, or the night before that when he hadn’t made it home at all.

It was barely four in the afternoon, and yet Hannibal had been surprised to see Face’s beloved vintage Corvette already sitting in the driveway when he’d arrived back from the shops. He’d had plans to have his husband’s favourite dinner ready and waiting on the table that evening, and to keep his fingers crossed that there wouldn’t be yet another crisis at Face’s work to make him late, but the fact that Face was home early instead was more than he could have hoped for.

No sign of the man, though, even as Buster slammed straight into Hannibal’s legs with another bark of welcome, his wagging tail a blur in his excitement at having one of his masters back home with him. “Hey there, boy, how’s your day been then?” Hannibal laughed softly, dropping down to one knee and letting the dog have a moment to just slobber all over his face, before standing again and grabbing the shopping bags from where he’d dropped them by the door.

It had been a long week for Face, and Hannibal had done his very best to be a strong and supportive husband, not asking too many questions. He’d been retired for over two years now, and he honestly barely missed the job at all, but at times like this he did dearly miss his security clearance – he had no idea exactly what crisis Face and his team were dealing with, only that it had involved twelve- and even fourteen-hour days, and had left Face as stressed as Hannibal had seen him since he’d left the Rangers.

Trying his best not to trip over Buster, who insisted on sticking close to his legs, Hannibal carefully picked his way through their silent home. Face was most definitely somewhere close by; his uniform jacket was slung casually over the back of the sofa, his shoes placed neatly by the door, and his laptop and briefcase both sat on the kitchen table, next to a newspaper which lay open at a half-completed crossword.

“Face?” Hannibal called again, a little louder than before, as he quickly packed away the shopping, sliding the steaks and salads into the fridge. Still no response, and he whispered to himself, “Where are you, kid?”

Hannibal let the dog out into their secure backyard before turning to head upstairs, starting to suspect where he might find his missing husband. He couldn’t hear the shower running, though that didn’t rule out Face taking a leisurely bath, but he resisted the urge to call out again.

And sure enough, as he reached the top of the stairs, he finally caught sight of his better half, who lay asleep on their bed with their cat curled up by his side in a sunny spot.

“Oh, baby.” Hannibal stopped in the doorway to their bedroom, leaning on the frame for just a moment as he drank his fill of his sleeping lover. “Just look at you,” he whispered, then immediately clamped his lips together tightly, suddenly desperate not to wake Face up.

It really had been a long and difficult week for Face; on top of the heavy workload, which Face usually thrived on, Hannibal was all too aware that his husband hadn’t been sleeping well either, plagued by a mixture of insomnia and nightmares.

Face had refused to talk about any of it, of course – work, he simply couldn’t, and everything else he just didn’t want to. But Hannibal knew enough, especially about the origin of the nightmares, and had been grateful that Face had at least allowed himself to take comfort in Hannibal’s arms when he woke in panic, rather than pushing him away and pretending everything was fine. 

It had been an anniversary of sorts, and sadly not a good one. Eight years. Eight whole years, nearly to the day, since the fateful mission which had cost Face most of his left leg and torn their tightly-knit Alpha unit apart forever.

Hannibal always tried to be grateful for everything that had happened since that horrendous day, rather than focussing on the stormy night, the crashing chopper, and the exploding warehouse. He tried not to remember the heart-stopping moment when he first saw the ruin of his boy’s leg, but instead he concentrated on the equally heart-stopping joy of their first kiss, and the moments when they had finally confessed their feelings for each other.

Now, Hannibal stepped quietly across the bedroom, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard he’d been meaning to fix for weeks, and smiled down at his husband. Face lay on his back, head turned slightly to one side on the pillows, snoring softly and clearly naked beneath the throw he’d tugged halfway over his middle. 

He’d clearly not long been out of the shower, either, and had probably only meant to rest for a moment – there was a tell-tale damp towel lying abandoned on the floor near the bed, with a single crutch resting against the bedside table near the detached prosthetic leg. Face’s damp caramel curls splayed out across the pillows, the first hints of silver shining through at his temples, and there was heavy stubble still visible on his chin, but he seemed to be sleeping peacefully for the first time in far too long.

A chirruped little ‘meow’ announced the fact that their elderly, overweight cat Tilly was awake, and as Hannibal glanced over she popped her fluffy head up to blink at him from her spot by Face’s left hip. Hannibal held one finger to his lips and made a hushing noise, feeling only slightly ridiculous at his own actions, but Tilly seemed to understand somehow and curled back into a ball with another little chirrup of contentment.

Face mumbled something in his sleep at the sound, and moved his head slightly on the pillow, though to Hannibal’s relief he didn’t wake. He didn’t like the dark circles that had haunted his husband’s beautiful blue eyes recently, and if the crisis at work was truly over then it was past time that Face caught up on some rest.

Hannibal was feeling somewhat exhausted himself, he’d have to admit. He’d shared many of Face’s sleepless nights, calming his boy and trying to soothe him back to sleep, and on top of that he’d had a busy month himself. He’d thought retirement would be peaceful and relaxing after so many years spent on active duty, and for the most part it was, but he’d unintentionally stumbled into a second career of sorts, or at least the beginnings of one.

His first book was due to be published in just a few short weeks now, and he was still somewhat bemused by the idea that anyone would even want to read it, though his agent was excited and optimistic, even going so far as to organise a series of signings in bookshops close to military bases. Hannibal had never intended to actually publish his story – a novel about a close-knit military unit in a nameless war – but Murdock had printed off a copy of his finished document without Hannibal’s knowledge, with some sneaky assistance from Face, and sent it off to a publishing house. 

After a lot of editing, and a lengthy legal process with military lawyers to make sure there was no content that even hinted at classified events or materials, Hannibal was actually going to be a published author.

Face had been the most wonderful support and Hannibal’s biggest cheerleader throughout it all, even when he had been so busy with his own work, and Hannibal had dedicated the book to his husband without telling Face – seeing the look in his lover’s shining blue eyes when he’d first read the simple ‘for my beloved Templeton’ had made all the lengthy days sitting with lawyers and editors worthwhile for Hannibal.

He looked to the corner of the bedroom where a small cardboard box sat, and shook his head with a bemused smile: proof copies of his novel, presumably for him to hand out proudly to friends and family, though he had no intention of doing any such thing. Truthfully, Hannibal simply couldn’t imagine anything more embarrassing. A very few signed copies had been sent out by post, of course, to Murdock and BA in Afghanistan, to Tom Read in Iraq, and even to BA’s mom in Chicago. 

Face sighed in his sleep, jolting Hannibal out of his musings, and there was suddenly nothing he wanted more in the entire world than to join his precious husband on the bed, snuggled beneath the soft blanket right up against that warm, relaxed body.

Moving quickly yet quietly, Hannibal slipped out of his clothes, abandoning them on the floor beside Face’s forgotten towel. Naked as the day he was born, he lifted the corner of the throw and settled carefully onto the mattress, doing his best not to jostle his sleeping boy or their equally sleepy cat, finally settling his head on the pillow next to Face with a tired sigh of his own. 

Almost immediately, Face rolled over onto his side, apparently still fast asleep, and settled one warm hand on Hannibal’s waist with a tiny smile hovering on his parted lips. It happened that way so often, that he instinctively sought out Hannibal in his sleep, and Hannibal moved a few inches closer himself in response even as he closed his eyes.

Dinner would wait. Damp towels and dirty washing would wait. The rest of the housework would most certainly wait, even if Tilly and Buster would be demanding their dinner at some point in the next couple of hours. In this unexpectedly wonderful, if occasionally stressful, life they’d stumbled into, spending time together was always the most important thing. 

Their lives may have been changed forever eight years ago in that warehouse, and then again when Hannibal had been shot, but they could never predict what twists and turns might come next. And Hannibal could hardly wait to find out what the next eight years might bring.


End file.
